Sinful Cinderella

Moody stands on a footstool in her bedroom while I pin up the hem. It’s nearly eleven o’clock on the morning before the ball. I almost don’t care. The white magic has worn off and I’m so desperately tired I could sleep a hundred years.

“Why is her dress so plain?” Stepmother asks. She’s standing behind me, stern as a palace guard.

I chose a simple design for Moody’s gown because that’s what she likes. But it’s nice. Periwinkle blue with a smooth skirt, a swirling pattern of silver beads sewn across the bodice. It’s tasteful, unlike Loony’s riotous ruffles.

“It’s fine, Mother.” Moody says. “I just want to get this over with.”

“Bad attitude!” Loony’s sitting on the bed in her petticoat and swinging her big feet. She’s smiling. Probably thinks her chances for the prince are better if Moody doesn’t care. She might be right. If the prince wants a loud-mouthed tomato for a wife.

Stepmother taps her chin and frowns at Moody’s dress. “She needs some pin tucks in the skirt to give it more lift. And put some padding into the bodice to fill out her bosom-”

“Motherrr!” Moody whines.

“What? It’s no secret you’re flat as a floor.” Loony cackles while Moody throws a murderous look. “At least my chest doesn’t fall on my lap when I sit down.”

Loony frowns. “Are you calling me fat?”

“Well, if the shoe fits-”

“Come, come, girls,” Stepmother says. I’m glad she stopped them. I’ve seen my stepsisters fight before and it’s like cats, all clawing and hissing. I don’t care if they go to the ball with red scratches on their faces but they could ruin Moody’s gown.

“You can take it off now,” I say to Moody. “I’ll make the changes quickly.” I also have adjust- ments to make for Loony’s gown, the waist and shoulders proved too tight. Stepmother blamed my measurements rather than face the fact that her daughter gained another pound in two days.

“What will you do while we’re dancing with the prince, Cindy?” Loony smirks at me. I gather Moody’s dress into my arms. “Sleep.”

Loony laughs. “Well, that’s all you’re good at.”

“Oh, that reminds me, I gave Cook the night off,” Stepmother says. Cook is the only servant she kept besides me and thank goodness for that. I don’t know how to toast bread. “She wants to help her niece prepare for the ball and of course I understood. She intended to harvest the pumpkins today and place them in the cellar before the nights get too cold. I told her you would take care of it.”

So after long days of sewing with practically no sleep, Stepmother wants me to spend the evening hauling heavy pumpkins indoors. There are no words for how much I hate her.

“And before you make those adjustments, Cinderella,” Stepmother goes on, enjoying herself, “I need you to run down to the cobbler’s and pick up my daughters’ dancing slippers. They should be done by now.”

Another long walk. Then the dress alterations. And before the ball tonight, I have to get a little sleep. My own gown is still a bundle of cloth, a black mummy on my bed. For the first time, I wonder if I’ll make it to this ball at all.